


Trauerfall

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Along the Way [16]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Acceptance, Discussion of Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, coming to terms with mortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: Caleb doesn’t consider it recovery.‘Recovery’ implies a great many things, very few of which apply to him. Recovery implies a return- to the way things were, of his state of mind- and he doesn’t think that will ever happen; not really. No matter what, he will always be the man who killed his parents, the man who let himself be manipulated, whowelcomedit even. His own hubris and sense of self-entitlement led him here; it’s his own doing. There’s nothing to recover from.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Series: Along the Way [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1139501
Comments: 13
Kudos: 112





	Trauerfall

**Author's Note:**

> “As long as I kept moving my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer’s long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn’t touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown. So I just didn’t stop.
> 
> The substance of grief is not imaginary. It’s as real as rope or the absence of air, and like both those things it can kill. My body understood there was no safe place for me to be.”
> 
> -The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver

Caleb doesn’t consider it recovery.

‘Recovery’ implies a great many things, very few of which apply to him. Recovery implies a return- to the way things were, of his state of mind- and he doesn’t think that will ever happen; not really. No matter what, he will always be the man who killed his parents, the man who let himself be manipulated, who _welcomed_ it even. His own hubris and sense of self-entitlement led him here; it’s his own doing. There’s nothing to recover from.

Molly of course doesn’t see it that way.

“Of _course_ it’s a recovery, love.”

They’re sat together one evening for watch. Everyone else is asleep, the fire crackling warmly in front of them. It’s been a few weeks since the discussion where Molly had gotten Caleb to open up about what was bothering him, and since then it’s been slow going. Molly’s of the opinion that while Caleb has done some despicable, awful things, he was also a child, being manipulated by someone he thought he could trust. As if that could absolve him, as if it _fixes_ everything.

“But I still wanted to do it.” It’s the same thing he’s been saying since Beau and Nott first found out, and it’s what he will _keep_ saying, because it will always be true. “No matter how much he may have manipulated me, no matter whether he planted false memories- in that moment, when it mattered, I did not even _hesitate_ , do you understand? He did not force my hand, he didn’t dominate me through arcane means. He didn’t even _ask_. We understood what was to be done and we did it. We were _happy_ to do it, to serve the Empire, and our king, to do what was right.” Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, suddenly very tired, his next words coming quieter. “What I _thought_ was right.”

Molly leans in against his side, pulling him close before pressing a kiss to Caleb’s hair.

Caleb continues to try working through things. Molly’s support helps, as does the quiet care of the rest of the group, even if they don’t specifically know what’s changed.

Some days are easier than others.

Some days it’s easy to see what Ikithon did, how skillfully he arranged his students like pieces on a board, carving them up and putting them back together in the image he wanted. On those days it’s easy to see Ikithon’s touch on everything, easy to see his influence and accept that while Caleb's responsible for his actions, they didn’t happen in a vacuum.

Then there are the days where the self-loathing is so strong Caleb can barely breathe for the weight of it, the ache of guilt squeezing his heart as if to strangle it. Those days are the hardest, the whole world grayed out as if in a fog. No number of hugs or forehead kisses from Molly fixes it. Nothing does. He wishes it would, if only so Molly wouldn’t look at him as he does, eyes wide and sad, expression filled with helplessness. He doesn’t deserve the comfort, but accepts it if only to spare Molly the worry.

It’s on one of the bad days that he ends up pulling watch with Caduceus. It’s more common than not for Caleb and Molly to share a watch together, but it’s not unheard of for them to split up for an evening.

He’s not feeling especially talkative; words have been difficult today, as have most things. The bite of fall in the air has been stirring old memories, and the press of them against his mind have been almost too much to bear. It’s easier to retreat, to hide, but it bothers the others when he does; it worries them, unnerves them. 

The rest have gone to bed, and the night is quiet. The fire is warm in front of them, and while he tries to read, he’s not making any sort of progress. His heart isn’t in it, and he rereads the same paragraph numerous times before the soft _clunk_ of Caduceus setting his kettle on a stone near fire startles him into awareness.

“Nothing to worry yourself over, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus says. “I just thought a bit of tea might be nice on a cold evening. Would you like some?”

“Oh, uh, _ja_ , yes, please.” Caleb closes his book and tucks it into a pocket. He doesn’t think he’ll get any more reading done no matter how hard he tries. His thoughts are far too loud and scattered.

“You’ve been quiet today.” Caduceus doesn’t look at him as he says it, focused on measuring tea into a small drawstring linen pouch and putting it in the kettle to steep. “And that’s fine. Sometimes people just like being quiet. But if there’s anything you’d like to talk about, well, I’m more than willing to listen and help if I can.”

“I appreciate your offer, Caduceus. But I don’t know there is anything you could help with.”

“Well,” and Caleb can hear the smile in Clay’s voice as he says it. “That’s kind of hard to be sure of until I know what the situation is. You might be right, and there might be nothing I can do, but as I’ve told your Molly, sometimes just the act of saying something out loud can make things easier to carry. A shared load is easier to haul than one carried alone.”

Caleb stares at Caduceus over the fire, and if the man weren’t so serene, weren’t so calm and peaceful, it would be easy to think him smug. Caleb thinks he might be a bit smug anyway, though he does appear to mean well. 

“How much of my history are you aware of, Mr. Clay?”

“None of it, really.”

Caleb looks across the fire in surprise to find Caduceus smiling cheerfully back at him.

“I mean, I assume there’s some stuff there that you don’t especially care for, that causes you trouble. You do have a, uh, interesting relationship with fire, but I’m not up on specifics. Was I supposed to be?”

As far as Caleb’s been aware, everyone knew the story, more or less. Now faced with someone who doesn't, someone who maybe _should_ , he has a choice to make. Everyone else in the group who knows, he either told out of necessity, or were told as a means to group safety. It occurs to him that this is the first time he really has a choice in the matter, doesn't feel pressured; it's almost worse this way.

He must be taking too long to answer, because Caduceus tilts his head with a calm smile, flicking a glance up at him. "You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not. While sharing can help, sometimes pulling a scab off a wound before it's ready is detrimental. You go ahead and do what feels right, Caleb."

And that's the thick and thin of it, isn't it? He has no idea what feels right, what the correct answer is. Once upon a time, the idea of telling anyone his deepest shame and regret was enough to make him run, enough to make him feel ill. Now though, the fact that most of the group knows and nobody's run him out, chased him off, nobody's singled him out and demanded explanations-

Maybe, just maybe, it's worth it. To take the leap, to trust that this time, with the information given willingly, it won't come back to haunt him, won't harm him, and might in fact help him start to heal.

"Mr. Clay," Caleb says, slowly, deliberately. "I am going to tell you the story of how I murdered my mother and father."

It's not as difficult as he thought it would be.

The words come easier with practice, it seems, with the tenuous feeling of safety, the relative sureness that he won't be cast out, won't be judged, or that if he is, it will be fairly, whatever that means. He comes to the end of the story, telling of how he'd escaped the asylum, how he'd wandered for a time, lost and alone before meeting Nott. He winds down, words dribbling to a halt, and for the first time since he began the tale, dares to look up at Caduceus.

He's gazing back, focused and intense. “Well. That story sure was something.”

Caleb laughs, and it comes out ragged, just barely not a sob. “ _Ja_ , I suppose you could say that.”

Caduceus hums quietly in agreement, still looking contemplative.

“So,” Caleb says, curious as to what the response to his outpouring will be. “What do you think?”

Of the group, Caduceus is the one he feels like he has the least grasp on, the one person from whom he doesn’t know what to expect. He’d been reasonably certain that Nott wouldn’t abandon him at his confession, similarly Beau, though he’d been less sure of her reaction; a calculated risk to gain access to the library of the Cobalt Soul. He hadn’t been around when Fjord and Jester were told, and he honestly isn’t sure if Yasha is aware. He’d told Molly because if Molly was going to be with him, he had a right to know what sort of person- what sort of _monster_ \- he was consorting with.

Caduceus, however, is a wild card. An unknown.

“You know, I think you’re actually doing quite well being as well-adjusted as you are, all things considered.”

Caleb can’t help the derisive laugh that statement pulls out of him. “Have you _met_ me, Caduceus? I don’t think ‘well-adjusted’ would be the term to describe me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Caduceus’s ears give a flick which Caleb’s come to discern as amusement. “Despite everything you said, despite everything you’ve been through and survived, you’ve still managed to come out the other side of it kind. You’re still capable of compassion, still capable of care, of love. That’s not nothing, Mr. Caleb. You should be proud of that.”

“ _Proud_ ,” Caleb spits. He doesn’t know where the sudden vitriol is coming from, but it’s easier than letting himself feel the other emotions creeping in and grasping at the edges of his mind, trying to find purchase. “I don’t think I should be proud of anything. What is there to be proud of? I killed my parents. That is hardly something worth lauding.”

If Caduceus is bothered by the outburst, he doesn't show it. “It’s not the act you should be proud of, but rather how you’ve behaved since. Death is difficult in the best of circumstances, and I think we can both agree those were not ideal circumstances.”

“Are you,” Caleb pauses, scrubbing angrily at his eyes; when did he start crying? “Are you going to tell me how there’s _meaning_ in death, 'everything has a purpose', or some _Scheiße_ like that?”

“Sometimes there isn’t.” Caduceus shrugs as he reaches for the tea kettle, somehow deciding the tea is ready. “On rare occasion there’s a reason, or a purpose- someone sacrifices themselves, or has to sacrifice others for some ‘greater good’, but that’s more an exception than the rule.” He pours the steaming tea into the small cups at his side, and sets the kettle back onto the heating stone. “In my experience, death just...is.”

“How do you live with that? With how-” Caleb gestures vaguely in the air, searching. “ _-meaningless_ it is, how random. What is the point, then? How can you…” He trails off, unsure how to articulate the garbled mess in his head, and instead accepts the tea cup Caduceus hands him.

“Well,” Caduceus takes a sip of his own tea, ears giving a slow swish. “Just because the death didn’t have a meaning or a purpose or a reason doesn’t mean their _life_ didn’t. Everyone owes the Matron a death, whether it happens in a grand sacrifice, or by something as simple as old age; everyone ends up the same in the end, more or less. It’s their life and how they live it that gives them purpose, that gives them meaning- how you affect others, the impact you leave behind. You throw a rock into a lake, what happens?”

“Uh,” Caleb says, brow wrinkling. “It splashes...causes the water to move.”  
  
Caduceus nods. “It moves its way through the water, and eventually hits its end at the bottom. It stops, but the ripples it leaves in its wake keep going. People are the same way. Everyone hits their end, but the ripples remain. Those ripples are the goal, not the lake bed.”

Caleb takes a drink as he turns Caduceus’s words over in his head. The premise is decent, but it doesn’t ease the yawning ache in his chest where his parents’ memory lives.

“Those are pretty words, Mr. Clay.” He looks down at the cup, rubbing his thumb back and forth along a chip in the lip of it. “I am not sure they make me feel better, though.”

“And that’s alright.”

Caleb looks back up at Caduceus to find the other man looking back with a small smile. “Coming to terms with mortality, processing grief and loss is kinda weird, you know? It’s different for everyone- some people process quick, some slow, but even if you take the same amount of time as someone else, your experiences will still be different; how you handle it and work through it will still be different. There’s no wrong way to grieve, Mr. Caleb.”

Caleb laughs, but it feels stuck in his throat, thick and choking as ash. “I feel that might not be true, my friend. I fear I’ve been doing a rather terrible job of it so far.”

“Well, that’s only because you haven’t let yourself actually do it yet.” Caduceus sets his cup down and rests his arms on his knees, hands clasped lightly together. “Forgive me for saying so, Mr. Caleb, but it doesn’t seem to me that you’ve really let yourself _try_ to grieve. No one’s meant to live in mourning indefinitely. The loss never quite goes away, that’s true, but the mourning process is just that- it’s a process. It’s meant to have an end. You’ll feel the loss the rest of your life, but to truly live there comes a point where you have to be willing to move on. There’s a lot of things you can learn, being around death, but one of the biggest ones I’ve learned is that you have to remember to live.”

Caduceus reaches out slowly, giving Caleb time to stop him, bringing his hand to rest on Caleb’s chest, pressing lightly over where Caleb’s heart beats. “You’ve been trying to outrun your grief, and it’s caught up to you, is all. That’ll hurt.” A flicker of expression passes over Caduceus’s face as he pulls his hand back, but it’s gone before Caleb can make sense of it. “It’ll hurt, but you have to trust that it’s worth it to make it through and come out the other side. It’s something you’ve got to do yourself, _for_ yourself, but you don’t have to do it alone.” He pours himself more tea, and as he does his features settle back to the gentle calm Caleb is accustomed to. “Everyone, if they live long enough, will lose something in the world, Mr. Caleb; will lose some _one_. Even in the closest relationships, the most loving couples, the best of friends, someone dies first. It isn’t something people usually want to dwell on.”

Caleb’s mind immediately shifts to Molly. He thinks about Molly’s smile, his laugh, the way he meets each day head-on and ready to find joy in everything. He thinks about how he felt when he’d thought he’d lost Molly, when he thought he’d never see him again, of the deep, aching wound it left in him. He knows that eventually, someday, he’ll live long enough to feel that again, or Molly will.

Caduceus pulls him back out of his head with a gentle tap to Caleb’s knee. “When we _do_ lose something or someone, something comes in after it. Nature abhors a vacuum, you know. We learn to love new things, or new people we haven’t met yet. They won’t ever take the place of who or what we lost,” he says. “Nothing _can_ , but they’re not meant to. They’re meant to be their own thing, their own experience. I know you loved your parents, Caleb, and it’s obvious to anyone you still do. You wouldn’t have been so upset, still _be_ so upset all these years later if you didn’t. All this guilt you carry, all the grief, it’s out of love. If you didn’t love them, you wouldn’t care.”

Each word Caduceus says is like a small knife, cutting away at Caleb’s self-control, and it’s all he can do to hold himself together. The feeling of something welling in his chest is becoming difficult to ignore; he’s been holding it back for years, for over a _decade_ , now, and he fears what will happen if he sets it loose. This grief, the yawning sorrow and guilt and _pain_ , it’s so much a part of him, he doesn’t rightly know who he is without it.

“Of _course_ I love them.” he finally says, voice thick with emotion. “Even as I was- even as I-” _-the hay cart in front of the door, the sound of crickets against the silence of the sleeping valley, the heavy feel of Ikithon’s gaze on his shoulders as Bren raises his hand, a mote of fire gathering within-_ “I loved them. I love them now. They are with me, here, always.” Caleb says, pressing a shaking palm to his chest. “I carry them with me everywhere. They color everything I do. Everything I have done in the past five years was with them in mind.” He swallows past the lump in his throat, the next words coming out in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know that I can let them go, Caduceus.”

“You don’t have to.” At a look from Caleb, Caduceus inclines his head. “Well, not entirely. Nobody’s asking you to forget them, or stop loving them.” His ears flick, a gentle swish before perking slightly. “Look at it like this- did you ever have a patchwork quilt when you were younger?”

The sudden shift in topic catches Caleb off-guard. “I- _ja_ , I did.”

Caduceus’s eyes crinkle in a gentle smile. “Yeah. They’re pretty great, you know? I had one, too; my mother made it for me. There was a blanket I had before it, since I was real young. I loved that blanket, took it everywhere. It kept me warm and it was soft. Just a great blanket. But as with all things, there came a point where it couldn’t serve its purpose anymore. My mother took that blanket and used it to make the new one. It wasn’t the same, but it became something new, something better. It was still with me, even if not in the same way. It’s the same with your parents. They’re not with you, not how they used to be, but they’re still there, a part of who you are. They still have impact, they still affect you.”

Caleb blinks. “The ripples.”

“The ripples.” Caduceus nods, smiling. “They live on in your memory, and hey, your memory’s pretty great.”

“ _Ja_. I suppose it is,” Caleb says quietly.

“You’ve been grieving a long time” The look Caduceus gives him isn’t unkind, but it has a weight to it that’s been lacking until now. “You’ve been carting it along with you like an unwanted piece of luggage, and I get it; grief is miserable, sometimes. But if you’d like a small piece of advice?”

Caleb nods.

“Spend time with your grief. Commit to experiencing it fully.” Expression softening, Caduceus sets his tea aside and takes Caleb’s hands in his own, teacup and all, giving a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be unpleasant, but I think you owe it to yourself to do it. You’ve decided to face your past, and that’s already an incredibly brave thing to do. Keep in mind though that while your parents died, they weren’t the only ones who were hurt. You’re an injured party as well, and you owe it to yourself to look at it that way. You may not be able to make amends to them, not directly, but you can try to make amends to yourself, and in doing that, honor their memory. I think they’d want you to be happy, Caleb.”

Caleb hears the words, and while they’re not news- Molly’s been telling him the same for months now, as have Beau and Nott- this is the first time he’s let himself internalize them, let himself _believe_ them. Yes, he’s done awful things, things he deeply regrets, things he can never possibly make up for, but he was done wrong as well. It doesn’t excuse his actions, or absolve him, but perhaps it’s enough; enough to accept that he's not the only one at fault, that the blame doesn’t rest solely on his head.

That maybe, some day, he might be worthy of forgiveness.

“You know, sometimes you’re very wise.” Caleb tugs a hand free to reach up and scrub over his face. He’s crying again, tears falling steadily from his eyes, and it’s a challenge to speak past the lump in his throat that wants to steal his voice away.

Caduceus’s ears give another pleased flick, his smile growing brighter. “Well thanks, I’m glad you think so. That’s high praise coming from you.”

All Caleb can do is give a watery smile and nod, overcome.

They sit quietly, Frumpkin returning a few moments later from his wanderings to curl in a small purring loaf on Caleb’s lap for the remainder of their watch. When their time is up, Caleb stands, Caduceus patting him on the shoulder as he passes on the way to his bedroll. 

Caleb takes another moment, letting his mind settle, and from behind him a pair of arms wind around his middle and give a gentle squeeze.

“Alright, love?”

Almost without his say so, Caleb’s whole body relaxes back into Molly’s warmth. Caleb spins in the circle of Molly’s arms and buries his face in Molly’s chest, taking a deep breath and drowning in the scent of him, the joint smell of lavender and spice that’s come to mean comfort and safety to him. Molly just waits, ever-patient with him, and gods, when did Molly become his new home?

After a minute or so he pulls back, knowing he needs go sleep, and that he needs to let Molly go sit his turn at watch with Fjord. Molly’s eyes shine, reflecting flickers of the nearby campfire, and it fills Caleb near to bursting with warmth. He still regrets what he’s done, but every action, every turn of events, every choice has led him to be here, with the Nein, with _Molly_ , and that has to count for something.

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says. “I am alright.”

Molly’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then leans in to press a quick kiss to Caleb’s lips before turning Caleb towards their bedrolls and giving him a gentle nudge forward. “Sleep well, _cariad_.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Caleb does.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Trauerfall_ \- Bereavement  
>  _cariad_ \- sweetheart
> 
> Special thanks to Mikkeneko for their thoughts and encouragement, and Alan Cummings who inspired the bit about "even in the most loving couples, someone dies first".
> 
> Want to yell, ask a question, or just say hello? Come find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/) or on twitter at the same handle!


End file.
